"overkill" poems
I gaze into my crystal ball, discern amidst the haze
A world so far removed from that of now, it would amaze,
Where catapulting incidents collide like billiard *****
And sense defies belief as renaissance makes the calls.
Blueprints fresh from Internet supply the suitcase blast
Where the terrorist’s, simultaneously, ignite in cities cast
From Moscow to New York, Beijing to Berlin
Gay Paree to London town then way out east again,
Budapest, Jerusalem Calcutta burning all
And Tokyo is levelled in a ghastly nuclear pall.
Kneejerk reaction triggers contrails in the blue
Crisscrossing all the continents obliterating through
An overkill so vicious that in seconds it is past
And the living cling in horror, bearing witness… aghast.
Restraints are erased as the opportunists dash
Flotillas from the Spratleys sprint to occupy and cash
In on the minerals, oil and potential food supplies
Of uncontaminated nations found beneath Pacific skies.
Hindi, Jew and Muslim settle scores bereft with years
Of resentment accrued in a flood of blood and tears.
A sudden realisation of immensity of loss
Curtails the destruction in retrenchment across
The habitable outposts, the dearth of supply
And the daunting prospects of a nuclear winter sky.
Global collapse of all electronic gear
No power, no phones, and no cars now…for years.
Electromagnetic impulse put paid to all that
And the day is as dark as the cold night is black.
And here all we sit, in the here and the now
On the verge of catastrophes’ teetering tower,
With a fools pudgy finger just inches above
The nuclear button…and all that we love.
……You fear the insanity, sense the insane
Knowing that people like this are holding the reign?
Knowing that volatility strikes
Like the shot of a gun and the ****** of a knife.
I don’t have the answers to hand
But someone out there, knows how…and can.
The sands of time are running thin
URGENTLY needed a LEADER...to WIN!
M.
Planet Earth
6 March 2019
Mar 6, 2019
Mar 6, 2019 at 12:46 AM UTC
before that,
we sat pinned
and winded
on steel hands
and plated masks
near the crimson
jade pools
by the killing fields
of bordeaux
we did not look
we could not look
our eyes blinded
and seared
by the charred remains
and shallow graves
the battered birch
and caliginous path
drifters and vagabonds
and kings of kings
held witness
to the pounding
and overkill
the blades
cauldrons
and burning sweet-grass
all brought forth by healers
rammers, sages
and holy front men
glance behind
(watching them sort
through the rubble
and *****
the blood flow
spilling its warmth
throughout the
festering scene
they pulled the stops out
on this one ~
those sweated woodlands
and churned meadows
now framed
by a burned
and broken cross
autumn like winds
begin to chill
(casting spells over ground cover)
night lights flicker
beyond
the fallen trees
Jun 3, 2019
Jun 3, 2019 at 3:58 PM UTC
Anna entered the room like a butterfly, gossamer to all.
Her face told a different story. One of sadness and hurt.
She wore only the finest silks and seamed cuban stockings.
All eyes latched upon her and followed every step. But no real man ever approached her.
No saviour could get near.
She wore none of her finery, the choice all his.
A trophy bride,
sold like raw meat in her childhood.
It was normal in her village, her adolescence stolen from her.
Anna's delicate neck held an overbearing sapphire necklace. It was overkill in every way.
All for show, all chosen by him, all for him.
He entered with his cronies as though owning the club.
The way he thought he owned her.
Thought indeed, for there is always a price in ownership.
Hours past champagne and fake laughter abounded.
Then she stood up.
Immediately challenged!
She wished to go and powder her nose.
Naturally escorted, god forbid she made outside contact.
But she was not watched within. Minutes passed then... The scream.
She had left, Anna had escaped him.
The anger on his face !
He had no control, lost face in front of them all.
For Anna, oh beautiful Anna lay sylph like wrapped like a cloud in her white dress, its silk floating in a pool of her life blood.
She had left, she was free.
Now her face was different, white, ashen but at peace.
Free..
Anna had left.
Mar 3, 2014
Mar 3, 2014 at 2:20 PM UTC
"Unconditional addiction" are these terms,
I think of this servitude as good germs,
I understand pain is an emotional whip,
Drink in this short quip: have a sip.
And when you've had your fill, just chill,
Break through this illusion with the power of will,
When you're striking stones to light your fire,
Will lightning be created? That's overkill.
We have an addiction to stimulation,
An addiction to nonsense,
Through every trial and tribulation,
I find my mind's dense,
When will I stop stumbling?
How about a continual fall?
Every floor has a ceiling
And every ceiling a floor.
Without these things, there's nothing
But a continual thirst for more.
Have I said enough, have we won the game?
When you're old and poor, there'll be no one left to blame.
Every stranger's face will really be the same.
Not one will be your family, not one will share your name.
An addiction before you knew the word,
An addiction to emptiness,
An addiction to "wait, I'm searching"
An addiction to "haven't found it yet!"
Too often have we lost our way,
Too seldom have we stopped our play,
And now that we have cut the rope,
Your world will fall, now, ain't that dope?
Nope.
Everything's addicting,
How are they put to rest?
Stop being conflicting,
Just simply pass the test.
Outside of reality is inside.
Inside reality is outside.
It's all one and the same.
There's no poison like fame.
Feb 9, 2016
Feb 9, 2016 at 9:16 PM UTC
This is the new world.
A virtual Vegas crammed with bright lights,
stimulating colours. Sensory overkill
for the new generation.
The mice scurry. A click. Words
and pictures fill up the sad, vacant space.
Information pours into our heads and trickles
out our ears in a few seconds.
No wallet, no coins, no notes.
Objects become ours with no money
in sight. No handshake, no hello,
but a deal has been done.
We are obsessed with the here and now.
A need to know what he’s doing, she’s doing,
surely they want to know what we’re doing too?
A second later, the world can know.
Are you feeling lucky punk?
Plunge into an ADHD mess of those who wish
to be loved by the unseen, unknown.
We are alone, unloved. We need you.
Television without a remote.
Films, music without a disc.
An online Orwellian world.
What was ‘hot’ last week
is recycled into a new fad.
A constant tinker of
layouts, images, ideas,
designed to bind us in chains.
Look at me! Look at me!
Play me, **** the clocks.
Once you’re in, like hell
you’ll get out.
The new world trapped in wires.
Why talk when we don’t need to?
Troops are growing in numbers.
Sign up. It’s free and always will be.
Maybe God created the world as we knew it.
Everything we knew and didn’t stuffed
into a space that grew each day.
The new world is no different.
We stare and sit at reality number two.
There are our ‘friends’, then everyone else.
We are not alone. Anyone, anywhere can find anything.
The life we live scrolls before besieged eyes.
It can go slow, it can go fast.
It can crash when it gets too much.
Maybe it is just like us.
Refresh the page.
Now, what’s on your mind?
Mar 7, 2012
Mar 7, 2012 at 10:53 AM UTC
I'll have my heart in a gift box wrapped in see-through,
embellished with flowers, dedicated to you.
I'll spread a smear of glitter on it, maybe a little gold too,
so it doesn't seem so bitter, so overdue.
I hope it's vivacious; if it was pumping still,
and with prudent words you would overkill.
Its liveliness--once, now long forgotten--will decay in your palms.
Daffodils and daisies will melt into your hands, betraying all qualms.
Being the human that I am, obliged me to always seek knowledge.
I loved everything. Everything was a wreckage.
The fact that humans can cause this much damage enlightened me,
yet the thought of persuing self-destruction further could never set me free.
I was distraught till I was numb to the bones,
paralyzed on the cold tiles, silencing my own moans,
because what future awaits those who are namely the sick-minded,
the delusional, the know-it-all, the blindsided?
For spectators like us, we set everything into action,
to those who are less fortunate; the earth is flattened.
Their ideas, their meticulous theorems and allegories would all be dispersed,
by those who ignited the fire from the beginning. By the universe. By us.
Jul 16, 2014
Jul 16, 2014 at 5:02 PM UTC
All those homilies are works of comedy;
the only sounds you'll need to hear are my moans and plea, praying for you to take me.
I would need no altar to make you kneel,
the sight of my bare back alone would send those sinful lips of yours into overkill.
And, please, put that bible away,
we'll have the best erotica written by the time this night is over anyway,
or perhaps until the sun becomes astray from the unforgiving light and day.
So come on now, your able hands
would make the saints envious
with all the unkind things you'll do to my equally unkind body,
Bring it on, your cunning tongue
could make even a skeptic curious
even the angels would be stripped off
their grace and glory.
Forget about your god when all he ever do
is make you bleed, cry and beg,
you know the only place you'll ever find eternal salvation is between my legs.
Your hot breath and hands against my neck,
amen.
Mar 7, 2017
Mar 7, 2017 at 11:44 PM UTC
Luscious ruby red lips, tell me white lies,
gorgeous supple **** there I hide my alibi's.
My eyes can't see anyone else anymore,
my life isn't the way that it was before.
Her womb welcomes me, her sin invites me.
She violates me, and I, hurt her too, willingly.
Her warm tender fingers ****** what they will,
every touch is the chilling goosebump overkill.
Feet fall on golden cobblestones, never alone,
'cause I always know just where she is.
Luscious ruby red lips, tell me white lies,
gorgeous supple **** where I hide my alibi's.
Nov 4, 2011
Nov 4, 2011 at 1:52 PM UTC
a scratching modest,
not demanding or shrill,
the need is not great
but persistent,
the urge asks politely
for satisfaction.
if you would be so kind sir,
perhaps my dear,
you could find it within you to,
accommodate a humble request.
write us a poem about nothing,
this bequest,
about this or that,
need not be rant nor praise,
observe, distinguish, or separate,
let It be about nothing much at all.
let a modest whimsy bring rhyming smiling
to many a lip, perhaps a tear or two
would not be out of place,
to keep the inner ear of the soul
straight on the line that demarcates
sanity and sobriety, from the madness of daily life.
couplets and stanzas, irregular, no matter,
iambic pentameter, overkill, too much bother,
perfect simple limericks for a kind hearted fella
would be most satisfactory
-----
Cute but pointless.
No, insufficient, a poem deserves its own import.
So here is the truth,
Here is a sanctified poem
About something!
~~~~
I got friends in this place who deserve better.
They deserve a poem that says:
We are all broken, demonized.
The edge is always near,
But never having laid eyes on you,
You have trusted me with thy struggle,
And I, with hints of mine.
So here is
The Poem,
a
Medal of Honor
I award to us.
A poem about the only four letter word that really matters,
A thousand times more powerful than mere love,
I award to us for bravery conspicuous,
For telling the truth, the hard way,
In words that reveal the persons we are when unmasked,
I award us the
**Medal of
Kind.**
And someday when our hands shake, hard hugs exchanged
And our smiles won't stop
Than I will say unashamedly,
****** I love you...
My men,
My women
My friends,
My comrades
You know who you are.
Aug 18, 2013
Aug 18, 2013 at 12:13 AM UTC
i don’t want life to be easy,
but i wish it were simple
i don’t want to pick flowers
to die in a vase on the table
it’s too late to retreat
it’s too late to begin
it’s too late to start over
i’m too broke to give in
i want it all or none
spend my days in a class or the sun
either a mansion or shack on a hill
if i could put in the effort, complete overkill
but they don’t want me to belong to the land
(only if i put a dollar in their hand)
so i am a little bit lost
a little bit lazy at a pretty large cost
and i want to know things but not out of need
fulfill my own longing, a curious greed
it’s too late to go back
it’s too early to die
it’s too late to start over
it’s no use asking why
can i only have just one?
rich exhaustion or penniless fun
i’m sure that some can,
but that someone’s not me
unless there’s something that no one can see
i’m digging for treasure
i’m not sure is there
maybe i’ll find it…
if i just change my hair
Dec 15, 2022
Dec 15, 2022 at 4:22 AM UTC
Drugs are ******* great man
Do another line
Or take a hit
Or take a sip of something
There’s enough available to us
That’s legal - or not
That freaking out is overkill
To those availing themselves
Of chewables or smokeables
Or pills or anything prescribed
By labcoat-wearing, overeducated
Pharmaceutical-reps
Masquerading as the answer
That you found yourself
By diving into forums on the web
Your doctor both agrees with
And now disavows
They can’t allow
This kind of undermining
Of the underpinning
Of their industry
And of what’s keeping people healthy
Even only as a byproduct
Of confirmation bias
They cannot acknowledge
If we want to be respected
In this new environment
In which our personal experience
Is more true than the objective
Information taught to more than like
One million doctors
Oct 24, 2023
Oct 24, 2023 at 4:45 AM UTC
The Gods have forgotten how to die,
in the Serengeti the Lion fills his cup.
Gerrymander those dreams furnished as overkill,
for safekeeping store them in a crucible so that,
Warriors pledge wherewithal returns,
a monstrous bounty to wrench
the loadstone enduring.
Nov 14, 2012
Nov 14, 2012 at 3:41 PM UTC
My thoughts are dazed…
Claustrophobic and hazed.
I’m exhausted and unamazed,
Fatigueness of some kind, low from the natural high.
Thoughts in my mind are delusive and unkind.
Dizzy and feeling quite fizzy
Not in the mood for studying, excitement, and fun.
Sitting by my lonesome self just writing what I can process.
Head feels heavy, got me feeling a bit queasy
Uneasy
Zoned out and lost in my thoughts
Sun is out and the wind is harsh…
It’s skin prickling and dissatisfying.
My exhaustion is sickening.
Absolute death and no reason
No fret
But anguished in my enclosed mind
But no threat…
System overkill
Discredit and disregard
Explain but disagree and make it hard
Exhalation and permutation
Loss of existence and clouded perception
Obsessive minds and sniffed up lines
Excessive amounts and numbers you cannot even count.
Broken, ripped, torn, and outwardly worn.
A lost ghoul, selfish, and for more you mourn.
Poor and dead, not yourself, completely blacked out and unconscious in bed.
Overdosed on the ****** pills, suicide attempts never work…
Let the meds pour…
Gone, so gone…
Just let the meds pour...
Feb 17, 2017
Feb 17, 2017 at 8:31 AM UTC
I sit at the window sill
Summoning for spring's till
Of thickets of green mandates fill
The procession and succession with frill
All rise with new blossoms being a thrill
My spring garden fitting the bill
For the little birdies that mill
With their pleas of a worms swill
First, let's arrest the lingering winter chill
The deliberating ill
Citing that bitter bitter pill
That sentences my grief's overspill
With the last backlog of snow on the hill
Of the icy roads that overkill
Free my hammer from waiting still
For the arrival of springs shrill
And the exit of winter's will
My eyes hold court for the first daffodil
Logan Robertson
4/08/2019
Apr 8, 2019
Apr 8, 2019 at 5:38 AM UTC
Overkill, that's what this is, a battle uphill
Who cares? We're just in it for the thrill
Excuse me, miss, can I have the bill?
Pay it off with a twenty-dollar bill
Gotta get to the bullfighting in Seville
This is what I do, you could say I'm mentally ill.
Better get a check-up with Dr. Phil.
I'll just tell him rhymes are what I instill, its a unique skill
Keep doing this even when the world is spinning like a windmill
Like the Storming of the Bastille, there is no escape, take a sleeping pill
Deep water runs still, I'll toss you on a George Foreman grill
Make your Last Will and Testament, because this is overkill.
May 7, 2015
May 7, 2015 at 10:36 AM UTC
Mechanical house-slave, iron foot
Beast of burden on everyone
I don't deserve my portion
Your eyes scream abortion
Where once there was overkill
No more working for the man
Nine to five suicide
Instead I'll rot here slowly
No risks or big explosions
No walking into traffic
Turtle doves laugh and procreate
While my hands move on dirty-dish clocks
Wonder how long I could gargle this soap
Before finding the golden solution to cope
These walls are nauseating
Drink to oblivion
Take but never give
Don't ask me why my heart's still beating
Or why my good behavior's fleeting
I didn't make any deals
Don't know why these things have happened
Nor the names of these sins
Locked lips have turned to skeletal stitches
My unknown crimes became their riches
And now I'm in memento limbo
I'm trying so hard to escape
To unravel these fists into fingers
All I need is a bus ticket & some fun
But maybe I'd be better with a trench coat & gun
Put this cardboard city on the map
Never knew secrets could ****
Change can't come without shedding dead skin
I fear I've nothing to build upon
They're all planning bets and cons
While I'm Pierrot in a small air duct
Arctic hearts turn blind eyes
I want to lift these weights off your shoulders
But nothing seems to suffice
Perhaps all that's left is self-sacrifice
A charming, tragic gamble into dust
Meanwhile, you should buy another pet
Their souls are more immune
To the metamorphosis disease
Doubt you want to be the one to clip wings
Off of locusts & flightless birds
Believe me when I say I'm sorry for wounding the womb
Just wish I could comprehend the deed
Please enlighten me
I want to make amends
Before this dull flame becomes a house fire
Nov 24, 2011
Nov 24, 2011 at 9:04 PM UTC
Zen. A quiet state which calms the mind.
Yawning, breathing, searching within.
Xerxes the King should have searched within,
which might have led to realizing he was
vain in his attempt to be a God.
Using Zen brings me a peace,
tomorrow I will benefit,
serving in a tranquil state of mind.
Reach for your toes, breathe.
Quietly pant, feeling the rhythm,
pulling the air in, pushing it out.
Overkill is not the object,
never feel tension,
make every movement relaxing.
Laugh with your body as a joy,
knuckle relaxing joy,surges.
Jasmine scented candles flickering
inside the window, like laughing spirits.
However long you wish to sit,
give yourself over for that time.
Forget about the work ahead,
eternal armistice can be anyone's.
Dauntless and disciplined are we,
countless one's who sit and feel.
Believe in the Zen, who calls her children,
Acquitting us with power, with understanding.
Sep 10, 2013
Sep 10, 2013 at 2:08 PM UTC
Thumbing the pulse of the overkill
The backbeat to our times
Stunning the false with freewill
On the backseat of a lie
Standing alone with patience
Trying not to die
Modelled by the gracious
Overwhelmed and shy
Leased out to the highest bidder for stories based on truth, told by the newest stranger from the loneliest book, eased myself close to get a better view inside a room with no door or no windows too.
Aug 25, 2013
Aug 25, 2013 at 8:49 AM UTC
hey
i miss writing to you
i miss trusting you with everything
i know its not your fault you gave my secrets away
but is happened and i can't trust you anymore,
my dear friend
you've been there forever
but no more
looks like the walls staying up
don't worry your worn spine about me
i'll be okay
and you can rest in peace
i have your ashes hidden well
i know burning you was overkill
but i had to
remember forever though
that for years on end you were my one and only friend
and i love you
dear diary
love,
me
Jan 6, 2016
Jan 6, 2016 at 12:35 PM UTC
After last week
I think I fell ill
with agoraphobia
Or perhaps my mind
retreated
turning hermit
and hidden
Maybe my thoughts
were trying to convince
my mouth to become
mute
My heart could have
tempted my limbs
to refrain from making
my routine tired
sloppy movements
out of bed
It could have been your
words
They could have gotten through the cracks
of my protective skull
and paralyzed
my inner spirit
to connect and inspire
and fly
Or maybe I was turned into a vampire
over the course
of the dreary long
tar night
Count must have snuck in
under the tiny slit of my door
and drained the life within me
forcing me to refrain
from light and the beauty
of a newborn day
Whatever it is...
I don't want to hear a single
syllable uttered
in my presence
Not a single w-o-r-d
hurled into my environment
like a sneaky soapy "I" or "me" or...
Today all I want is to
barricade myself in this
gorgeously empty room
and believe that I am the only person
on this planet
and that I don't owe a
a ******* thing
to anyone
especially
conversation
Dec 3, 2012
Dec 3, 2012 at 4:11 PM UTC
I never thought there could be enough
In fact there can be too ******* much
So much the smell in the air makes one lose touch
The sense of nappiness hits us like country road dust
Lay down if you must
We understand the smell is strong enough for a bust
but it is legal here so no fuss
**** overkill..what happen to the mega thrill?
Maybe I smoked too much and simply oh so chilled
The stink of **** is always in the air
Inhale it if you dare..
I never thought I would say this but..there is just too much ****
The smell is making me feel sick..
I never made so much butter quick
I get all dizzy and nauseous?
But this is my favorite thing..now its all work and not a casual fling
When I smoke now I am cautious
I say man..there is just too much **** ; )
Jun 25, 2014
Jun 25, 2014 at 2:36 PM UTC
I present as a strong figure,
A father who is decisive,
Fair and consensual
To the point of sacrifice.
I overheard:
Don't worry. It's only Dad.
Well, that's not quite true.
I'm not belly-aching,
How many picture frames,
Or video clips
Will you find me in?
Who held the camera
For twenty years?
King Hamlet knew:
Remember me.
You should know
I have the feelings
Of the aggregate.
We share fear.
I know you're afraid. Me too, but
You learn to live with it,
And sensitivity is a strong potion.
I see reflections of my eyes in yours.
You're easily hurt.
I hide this one.
You're learning to do the same.
Can't blame you, but fair warning:
The benefits and disadvantages
Are equally weighed.
No doubt we've been involved
In abandonment and lonliness.
Being sensitive,
You overthink everything.
Don't.
It causes worry;
Worry begets worry.
Too much time worrying.
It's an emotional overkill.
***** me, I bleed.*
Dads are sentient
Under shining armor.
You can tell by the chinks.
Jul 12, 2015
Jul 12, 2015 at 9:15 AM UTC
You're pretty and you know it
using those glassy eyes to tame -
my heart's suckered 'n you know it,
post-sex love purely (surely?) to blame
my mind melts as I grow weak at the knees
your gaze flitting from sultry to predatory -
blood gushes, adrenalin flushes
sweat dripping upon my skin lust-crazy, expectedly
oh I'll burn these nervy butterflies
with this blistering searing fury,
argh, stop this Pretence girl
'cause it's just starting to bore me -
*Mind Control to Inner Soul;
"what's your status?"
Inner Soul to Mind Control;
"help! The guts are dead and the heart is fractured!!!"*
my body slowly dying, polluted sick
with the caustic affection you instil
*"WARNING; cytoplasmic deterioration imminent -
extreme psycho-bitch overkill!"*
for now I know I must give up the chase
the Neurones have received a final transmission (oh please no, it can't be);
*"This is .. Inner Soul to Mind Control..
we're all so tired.. so tired .. so .. sleepy - - -"*
CLICK
Aug 30, 2015
Aug 30, 2015 at 6:30 PM UTC